


Power

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Face Slapping, Impact Play, Light BDSM, Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 03:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: The Warden finds Morrigan irresistible.





	Power

**Author's Note:**

> This is all fantasy nonsense. In the real world, two consenting adults would have WAY more conversation about the play before engaging in it. But again, this is fantasy.

There was a tinge in his cheeks from the bitter Ferelden air. It made him scowl. He sat, seething, on the lumber outside his small tent, thinking wistfully of the manor he once called home, and all the luxuries he’d lost. How bizarre it was, he thought, that Morrigan had spent her entire life in the forest, swept through childhood by these chilly southern winds. He could not imagine surviving under open sky for so long, surrounded by so much damned wildlife. Despite her status as an apostate, the mettle it must have taken to grow up in such conditions was still admirable.  
His stomach tightened as he glanced over at her now. Stoking her fire, muttering under her breath, she was stunning. Their flirting was fresh in his mind. Warmth flooded his limbs as he watched her move. It was obscene how proudly she held herself; filthy, how gracefully she moved. Entrancing. Her slender hand around her staff, her knees pressing into the dirt with each thrust of her weapon into the fire. What a glorious position that was for her. How perfect she looked when she kneeled. He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, but it hardly mattered. Watching Morrigan this way seemed to have chased away the cold.

From somewhere behind him, pleasant humming wafted quietly through the camp. Leliana was tucked away behind the flaps of her tent now, but her late night singing was always audible whenever she picked up a new tune. 

It seemed he was not the only one to notice. Morrigan looked up too, to glare in Leliana’s direction. Such fierce, flashing eyes were crafted to leave men in ruins, he felt sure. There was no doubt that the witch was used to having power over anyone she pleased. She knew she was beautiful, and knew that her intense aura and strong will could make any soul tremble. That harsh confidence fit her well. 

Morrigan’s eyes then strayed from Leliana’s tent. His skin warmed a little under her gaze as it fell on him. She shot him an angry sneer, carved with badly concealed interest, and he stared right back. The longer their eyes remained locked, the more flustered she seemed to become. He was completely nonchalant, blinking coolly and offering her no more than a soft, stoic smile. It was really a smirk, conveying the coldest lack of concern and a gentle taunt. It clearly bothered her that he was so unresponsive to her stare, and especially in the wake of all their recent flirting. Especially, he imagined, after their one kiss that had left her in such shambles.

He relished her frustration. It pleased him to know that he could infuriate her with such a simple act of denial. The witch played overconfident, but he could sense her inexperience, and knew she needed the release that a stronger hand would bring her. He could read her too well, and knew what she desired probably better than she did. The sounds she made, and her body language when he'd had his tongue down her throat, told him more than she probably had ever wanted to reveal.  
So if she expected him to submit to her attitude, she was fooling herself.

After a moment, she blinked rapidly, and peeled her eyes from him to glare back into her campfire in a huff. He chuckled silently at her defeat, watching as she swallowed back her irritation. She looked glorious. The licking flames highlighted the wilderness in her. Cold white skin glowed pink under the gentle light, and she looked especially warm. His chest knotted, thinking of how tender her flesh must be; how good she must taste.

He continued to stare for a long time, knowing full well that she could sense his gaze, and enjoying the way the lyrium in his system burned hungrily when she kindled the flame with golden sparks from her fingertips.

As the minutes stretched, he was pleased to notice that her ears were reddening. Her face was deeply flushed, and it was more than just the heat of the campfire. His attentions were getting to her, as were her nerves. 

Morrigan stretched. His eyes trailed her slender waist for a moment, his breath faltering as her cowl hitched around the swell of her breast. 

She turned. Their eyes met again. There was a newfound determination in her stare, and it made him grin. Her expression was an open door for him.

Sighing to himself, and wondering if this time their flirting would not simply end in empty frustration, he pushed himself up to stand. Leliana’s humming persisted, wafting through the frigid Ferelden air behind him, almost egging him on. 

His boots sank a little in the mud on his way over, but he almost didn’t notice it. Morrigan had her eyes on him again, hungry and inviting, and he was aware of little else. Her posture straightened as he approached, gathering composure and poise to hold her own the way she always did. He stopped in front of her, and sneered.

For a long moment, she stared. Her breathlessness was clear. It made him desire his hand around her throat, to make her truly the definition of breathless; to hold her powerless in his grasp. Then, her expression softened. The doe-eyed look was rare for her, but there it was. “‘Tis cold in my tent, all alone,” she said quietly, and the suggestive tone was wounding. He felt it in his gut. Agonizing. 

Dark hair cast a great shadow across her face, but her eyes still twinkled with that gripping golden color. Even in the darkness, he could see her blushing; moreover, he could see how easy it would be to crush her in their game of wills. That realization gave him power. It washed away all lingering doubt.

He inhaled deeply, feigning contemplation to string her along. “And…?” She frowned. A delicious sight. “What do you want me to do about it?” He remained cold, delighting in her indignance.  
The momentary scowl quickly became an intentional pout. She was quite good at this. She straightened her shoulders, her nose in the air. “Why,” she began, “it just so happens, that I find you… quite warm.” 

He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. Him? Warm? With all the lyrium in his system, as he studied to be everything she hated? 

His cool smirk tore into her now, and the desperation she betrayed was fucking priceless. Her breath quickened, and her gaze faltered a little more. The embarrassment rising in her cheeks was more alluring than her deliberate seductive wiles could ever be. The fragility in her strength, and the power he had to break it - just the thought made him a little hard. It was that fragility he wanted to exploit, if she would have it (and he knew she would). He glanced down her figure, so she’d have no doubt of his intentions anymore when he said, “Let’s see this tent of yours, then.”  
Without a second’s hesitation, she reached out to him. Tender yet confident hands pulled him close. Her lips found his, and - oh! - she tasted sweet. The feel of her tongue drew from him a long, shuddering breath of frustration. It was nearly a growl. He allowed her this control for now; it would be far more fun to snatch it away later if she thought her power was secure.  
His hands found her hair. Strong fingers twisted in the messy strands at the back of her neck. She shivered, then pulled away.

Morrigan led the way, which he continued to allow, knowing the look in her eye was calling for his takeover. He ducked under the flap she held back for him, and took in her tiny sleeping quarters. The witch had such an excess of furs lying around to keep her warm, it made him smile. 

Before he had a chance to turn back to her, a slender white hand took his cheek, and pulled him to her for another kiss. She was so much softer than one might expect from a woman so stern. But he knew her; he knew how soft she could be, and he wanted to force her to feel just how much softness was in her - to really feel the vulnerability she so rarely touched.  
Was that sick of him? Did that even matter anymore?

His posture stiffened as her arms crept around him, encircling him. He needed control back, and he needed it now. How else would she understand her place with him?  
Eager to put a stop to this, he broke their kiss to yank her arms away from him. One bony wrist in each palm, he glowered at her. 

To his delight, Morrigan actually buckled at this. Her arms went slack in his grip, her eyelids appearing heavy as she smiled. “Oh, I see,” she purred. “Is this how it shall be, hm?” She chuckled. “Shall I call you ‘Ser,’ then, dearest Warden? Or...”

He shook her slightly, and she gasped mid-sentence. “Did I say you could speak to me?” His voice was gentle, deliberate, and she ate it right up. Her body melted at the sound of his voice; practically boiled as he revealed his intent. 

“Well? Did I, witch?” 

Morrigan shook her head, tremulous. Her darkly stained lips quivered. A furrowed brow told him she was frightened. Really frightened. He watched her fingers twitch defensively, crimson sparks hissing between them. 

A threat? He smiled.

“Is that meant to intimidate me, witch?” His voice remained level, soft. He had half a mind to quell her with his own abilities, but he would rather watch her surrender. “You know what I could do to you. Your staff is not at hand, and even you are not immune to templar power.”

Her eyes were steel again as her defenses returned (something had to be done about that). “You have no power over me, Grey… Warden…” Though she started strong, she spoke his title on a wavering note, her voice fading into uncertainty as he shook his head. His calm, condescending expression was all he needed to bend her to his will. 

Of course, he would not stop there - but it was a gorgeous start.

“Is that so?” He spoke at such a low whisper it was almost a purr in its own way. The corners of his mouth twitched into a small smirk, and he slowly - cautiously - released one of her arms. She did not move it, nor did she flinch as the back of his hand brushed her pink cheek. From the way she shuddered and tensed, one would think his tender embrace was actually violent, in disguise.  
Perhaps that was accurate. 

His chuckle was no louder than a breath of air. “Are you afraid I am going to hurt you?”

Wide, worried eyes told him everything, even as she shook her head steadily. 

“No?” She shook her head again, but she blinked nervously. “I don't know about that. You look nervous.” His smirk was twisting lazily into a grin. “Are you afraid I am going to - ” He struck her sharply. Morrigan looked stunned. Stark white skin blossomed red in the wake of his palm. “ - Hit you?”

Her mouth hung slightly open. Utter disbelief was written over every inch of the witch’s body, and that was the way he wanted it. “Well, I never…!” she sputtered in uncertain outrage, even as the corners of her mouth betrayed how pleased she was.

He drew his hand back again, and hit her a second time. This time, harder, so that she staggered, releasing a tiny whimper. 

Such a helpless sound shot straight to his core. It was fucking delicious.

Gentle touches to her face elicited little reaction. She still didn't flinch as he stroked her. Suppressing his grin, he hushed her gently, as one might do for a small child to stop their tears. This condescension, it seemed, had some effect. Morrigan appeared to shrink in his arms. Her brow remained tight in her rage, but her free hand made no effort to push him away.  
Pulling very close so that he could taste her breath, he said, “I knew what you wanted from me when you invited me in here.” He felt her shudder. “Even if you didn’t.” 

“Why, you foul, loathsome little man, I - ” 

Another strike, and she whined loudly as her face jolted from the impact.

The Grey Warden sighed, and shook his head pityingly at the flustered woman squirming unconvincingly in his grip. “Don’t talk back,” he commanded. For a moment, her mouth hung open in surprise as she wrestled with this instruction. She looked at him. He waited.

Slowly, the witch pressed her lips together again, glaring angrily at him. He nodded in approval, finding her reluctant obeissance deeply satisfying.  
“Good girl.” This seemed to cut deep. “Now wipe that look off your face, witch.”

She did nothing. He waited again, staring to indicate his impatience. 

Her lips twitched as though she was considering it for a moment, but then Morrigan paused. She shifted her weight a little, tossing some hair out of her eyes with a minute flick of her head. She stared right back at him then, her expression unchanged, and finally she shook her head.

There was hardly a moment’s pause before his fist was buried in her hair. Morrigan winced, her teeth gritted, as he tugged her scalp. Her fingers danced with an unmistakable glow. She was defensive, and that was her instinct. Yet with the slightest increase of pressure around her slender wrist, her magic was quelled. She seemed to weaken at this. He grinned. 

“What did I tell you, witch? Hm?” He jostled her once by the arm, reveling in the way she gasped and trembled. “Did I tell you to wipe that stupid look off your face, or didn’t I?”  
More silence, and the rage in her eyes only deepened. 

“I see. So, you like to fight? Huh?” He yanked her downward, keeping a tight grip at her scalp to guide her roughly to her knees. “Is this what you want?” He knew it was. “You want to fight me? To have your obedience forced from you, hm?”

Morrigan sneered. Still, she was silent, but her eyes were daring him. Then, to both of their surprise, she spat at his feet. He drew a slow breath, watching darkly as the witch turned her gaze up to him again, and her sneer became something of a taunting grin. She wanted him, but wanted the fight even more. 

Something snapped in him. 

His hold on her became fiercer, eliciting a stream of whimpers that trickled through him like pure ecstasy. “I will only tell you this once, witch. Never - ” He hit her. She yelped. “Do.” He hit her again. “That.” Her ghostly cheek was scarlet now. “Again.” One more for good measure. 

Fuck, he was hard. Her ragged breathing and tousled appearance were stunning, and he wanted her. In fact, he needed her. Mostly he simply desired her submission. “Do I make myself clear, witch?” She nodded with little hesitation this time. A beautiful sight. She belonged there, kneeling before him. It was as perfect a position as he imagined it would be. “This is a good look for you, y’know.” She swallowed hard, staring him down, but not responding with her usual sass. “On your knees? Finally shutting the fuck up?” Oh, but he couldn’t help himself. He smacked her again, so hard that she groaned, and flexed her jaw as the sting subsided.

The Warden gave a soft grin as he stroked her ruddied cheek. “There you go,” he cooed. Despite his gentle tone and tender smile, his grip in her hair did not lighten. “Give in, witch. As you should.” 

But Morrigan, stubborn bird that she was, shook her head. Her personality was too strong to be held silent for very long, it seemed, for she snarled, “Giving in is not in my nature, templar.”  
Another slap. She blinked up at him with hooded golden eyes, her body heaving in time with her heart pounding with intensity beneath her ribs. “You know it to be true.” 

Seething with lust and a most delightful rage, he hit her again.

She whimpered as the sting met her cheek, then hissed, “I will always fight back.”

“Not for long, if I've anything to say about it. Not here in this tent. Not tonight.” He grinned. His face in shadow, he looked wild and beastly, even dangerous. He could tell she enjoyed such an expression, and squatted before her to bring the heat between them even closer. “Maybe you don't wish to be a good girl for me now, witch,” he said lazily, “but, oh… you will.” His grin was manic, his eyes shining.

She snorted, but said nothing. He could feel her trembling, and reveled in it. 

One more slap, and they shared a quiet moan between them. Morrigan licked the corner of her mouth as though it were growing sore, her fists clenched, yet she remained on her knees. She remained still. She said nothing. He felt a shiver in his cock at such obedience even in the face of her stubborn resistance. Maker, how badly he wanted her.

Cautiously, he placed a hand at Morrigan's chest, above her bosom. She stared him down unflinchingly, and did not pull away or protest. Confident now, his fingers slipped to her cleavage. Her flesh there was so warm, it made his own skin flush with want. Slowly, his fingertips danced southward, teasing the hem of her cowl in a silent request for allowance. She blinked softly, her chest heaving with anticipation, and her expression said it all. 

With a quick movement the maroon silk was yanked downward, exposing pale, unmarred breasts. “Fuck,” he breathed. Her nipples stuck out to him, alert little creatures in a sea of pearly white flesh. He brushed one with his dark fingertip. Morrigan shivered, starting at her core and bristling outward like a series of waves in her skin so that her whole body ultimately caved, leaning into his touch. 

He let go of her hair at last, moving both hands to cup Morrigan’s breasts. Then, just as she looked ready to speak up again, he swooped down and pressed his mouth to one nipple. He flicked it with his tongue, then laughed softly against her tender flesh when he realized how violently her heart leapt at that. Pressing down slowly with his teeth, he guaged her reaction. She swooned into his mouth, and with a quiet moan, he bit down - hard. She cried out in a loud burst that made him nervous. He stopped, withdrawing from her breast, and placed a palm over her mouth. “Hush, girl. We do not want the others to awaken and interrupt our fun, now do we?”

Morrigan shook her head, her eyes wide and her slender body trembling. He shook his head with her, mocking her silently. “Good girl,” he said. “So keep your mouth shut, hm?” He stroked her cheek gently, and drank in her shivering smile. He could not resist her. The way her skin glowed with the heat of the lust between them, the red in her cheeks from embarrassment, frustration, and from the hits she’d endured. She looked stunning this way. He had to have her.

His own body failed him, leaning into Morrigan’s figure like a desperate man, and his hands began to wander. One hand found her waist. The other ensnared her wrist again. “Open your legs, witch.” Her startled breath caught in her chest, but she complied at his words even so. She shuffled in her kneeling position, parting her knees and stretching the leather of her skirt as she did. The Warden felt his cock throbbing at the very sight, and the hand at her waist trailed to her pelvic bone almost immediately. Fuck, she was perfect. If only there were not so much leather in his way. He needed to touch her. 

“Now,” he sneered, “don't make a fucking sound.”

Her brow furrowed with suspicion and defiance, but she said nothing.

The hand at her waist trembled on its way down. He marked a trail with his touch, over her broad hip bone, then slowly across her lower abdomen. Her body tensed. He smiled. Her breathing picked up with every lower inch ventured by his wanting fingers. “Remember not to make a sound,” he muttered. “There’s no peace with me, girl.”

She glared silently.

Then, with a lurch of her core, she gritted her teeth as though suddenly struggling with this demand. His hand had strayed low - quite low - and his fingertips now teased the seam of her leggings just over the spot he knew would make this difficult. She squirmed, so he held her wrist tighter, enjoying how her knuckles went white from the pressure of her fists. Her face conveyed a delicious combination of pain and pleasure, one he devoured desperately as though it were lyrium. “Ah,” he gasped. “It seems I have found something.” Morrigan’s dangerous glare practically shot daggers. He smirked. “Stop pretending you have any power with me, witch. You are weak for me, and you know it. You are nothing.”

For a moment, the Warden wondered if his talk went too far. But reality reminded him: Morrigan was more powerful than he by far. If she wanted it to stop, it would, and there was a passionate fire in her glare that went beyond anger, lingering in the realm between that and lust.

He allowed his fingers to tease, to and fro along the helpful seam. Through the fabric he could feel the shape of her vulva, swollen and warm. The emanating heat from that perfect spot was definitely contagious. The Warden himself felt excruciatingly hot in the face as he stroked her. He also felt the heat in his cock, and could see her eyes staring hungrily at the clear outline of his erection, confined in his leathers. 

There was a moment of stillness between the two, until -

Morrigan let out an uncharacteristic whimper; it was a noise so soft it was almost inaudible to him, a small fluttering squeak that died on the air immediately. 

The Warden breathed in the sound and it was sweet in his chest, sending impulses through him that he could no longer resist. “You’ll regret making such a sound,” he hissed. Swiftly, he righted his posture, unbuttoned his leathers, and exposed himself. The hard, heavy cock held stiff between them made the witch’s eyes widen, and her mouth twitch in a delighted smirk. It was a beautiful sight. “Maker,” he breathed. He shook his head. His insides twisted with rage not being inside of her. It took all his self control. “Fuck.” 

Morrigan nodded. Her consent fueled his hunger for her, and for a moment he lost himself, staring down at her with his mouth open, his breath rapid. She blinked, letting her tongue wet her lips, and that was it. 

He dove forward, pressing the head of his cock against the crimson line of her mouth, forcing her smile to part and expose the flat of her tongue, and, oh! How satisfying a warmth it was, surrounding him, hugging him, gloriously wet.

Her throat gave way and she took him whole. Her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Whore,” he spat as his fingers curled into her hair, destroying the bun at the back of her head. “You get off on this, don’t you? You enjoy being treated this way, like the fucking whore that you are, don’t you?” Her mouth’s grip on his cock stiffened. She shook her head as she pulled back slightly, mouth agape, strings of saliva keeping her attached to him. “Oh no?” The Warden yanked her back onto him, eliciting a squeal from her, which vibrated through him pleasantly. “We’ll see.” He held deep for a moment, enjoying the way she squirmed, and the sound of her struggled breathing through her nose. She exhaled dramatically, coughing onto him with a rush of saliva, and he grinned, still holding fast.

A minute passed during which she wiggled and gagged. Finally, he let up for a moment. But only for a moment. She was allowed a moment to breathe. Everything was quiet.

It was then that he began to fuck her mouth with a vengeance, pausing here and there only to listen to her whimper and watch her drool. “You know your place, witch,” he hissed, slowing his pace for a moment while she coughed. “I know you do. So let’s try again.” He slid his cock out from between her lips with a slick pop and felt his heart leap with delight at the sight of her smeared lip tint and drool soaked chin. “Are you a whore for me, witch? Tell me. I know you know the answer.”

From her position on her knees, she could not move well, but her whole body heaved with the effort of catching her breath. Her expression twisted, as though the question were causing her pain. “I’m not getting an answer, witch.” Her lips curled, and though it seemed to cause her great pain, she finally nodded weakly as though her neck were suddenly very heavy. “There’s my good girl,” the Warden cooed. “Now… take off your skirt.” Morrigan’s eyes widened. The head of his cock brushed her smeared lip again, and she kissed it delicately. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment with pleasure, before repeating himself. “I said take off your skirt, whore. But stay on the ground. Don’t even think about standing up.” 

At that, he let go of her, and stepped back to watch her work. She remained on her knees as she unbuckled the homemade skirt, and when it fell she sat down, lifting her legs in the air to get the thing off. “Good girl,” he chuckled. “You’re being so good for such a little whore, aren’t you?” Morrigan’s face was flushed, her hands shaking. “Now… on your knees again. Hands on the ground in front of you.”

She went, trembling a little as she got into position. He moved to stand behind her, admiring her round buttocks in the air. “Gorgeous,” he breathed. He couldn’t help himself. “Now, remember,” he said softly, reaching out to brush his knuckles along the seam of her leggings, “don’t make a sound. Understood?” Morrigan nodded. Her breathing was heavy, and her fingers dug into the furs that were spread beneath her.

Slowly, the Warden pulled Morrigan’s leggings down, and her smallclothes went with them. Her ass was perfect, like marble, and - oh, that beautiful cunt. It was lovely and pink, swollen amidst a sea of dark hair, and he was hungry for it. But not yet. There was one thing left to do. 

With great difficulty, he pulled himself away from her, turning his attention towards her staff instead. She tensed as he picked it up. He wondered if she could sense his plans. 

He ran his fingers over the weapon, feeling the wood grain and grinning. He held it firmly against her exposed milky white buttocks, pulled it back, then brought the staff hard against her flesh so that she lurched. It made a deep thudding noise against her magnificent rear, but Morrigan herself emitted no sound. She was biting her lip. “Good girl, not making a sound,” he praised. She wiggled her bum a little to express her joy. 

The second whack befell her harder, and Morrigan bit her lip with the effort of not crying out. A bright pink mark had blossomed across both ass cheeks. The weapon was heavy and thick, and like nothing he had ever used before, but it did the trick nicely, and was easier to control than one might think. Another hit, and she cowered, curling in on herself. He ran a hand down her spine reassuringly, and she leaned into his touch. “Good girl,” he said again, his voice very quiet. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?” She nodded happily, wiggling her ass again. “Good girl.” 

When her body eased up, he hit her again. Then again. Then again. He continued to wail on her buttocks with the staff until her flesh was raw. Her legs were shaking by the time he had finished, her knees pressing hard into the furs. 

“Had enough?” She nodded, fighting back a whimper.

Morrigan, so strong, so beautiful, cowering at his feet, her ass red and raw - there was no sight more precious in all Thedas. He could taste her submission in the air, and it was glorious. His cock was aching for her now. He felt like he was burning up.

Her body was tremulous as he dropped the staff and knelt behind her. 

Warm, wet, inviting. Her cunt chased away the Ferelden chill like a flame. She gasped softly as the head of his cock pressed against her vulva, and before he could even make a move, she backed up onto it. He was dizzy with her warmth. She hugged him perfectly, and he seemed to fill her up quite well. They fit so snugly together, it was simply heaven.

He took a handful of her bruised ass and held it firmly as he fucked her. She writhed in pain and whined, but her sounds were minimal. “Good girl,” he gasped. “So quiet. My whore does what she’s told.” She stifled a gleeful moan at this, moving her body in time with his to maintain a spectacular rhythm. He fucked her furiously her into the hard cold ground, watching her pearly white flesh turn rosy all over. Her cheeks had bloomed such a deep blush color, he thought it might rival the marks left across her bum - marks that his hip bones dug into with every thrust.  
She collapsed. Her hips remained stationary as the Warden held them in place, but her face hit the ground, her neck twisted to the side so that she could breathe. He relished the way she winced, the way she panted, the way she wriggled around his cock, clawing at the furs beneath her. Maker, she was so beautiful. So powerful. So stunning when she submitted. She was perfect to him. 

His heart leapt in a manner that had nothing to do with the sex. 

To his great surprise, a fumbling hand reached out to his in that moment. Her torso was twisted just to touch him softly, even while he fucked her. He fucked her so roughly, he was beginning to feel a strain in his thighs, but there she was, holding his hand gently. It threw him. He took her hand in his, and used the opportunity to pin her arm to the small of her back. She yelped, clawing at the earth in vain as he ravaged her poor cunt. He was brutal, savage in his method, and she ached under his violent barrage, yet still she rocked her body backwards onto him, forcing him deeper. 

The Warden’s groans of ecstasy permeated Morrigan’s tent, surely wafting through the camp, but he didn’t care. Let them hear. He felt too good, too overwhelmed by Morrigan’s heat, her soft skin, and vibrant smell. She was heady and dizzying, like fine ale. Delicious. 

Perfect.

He came hard, his senses reeling. It was a burst of lightning in his core, like magic, tumbling through him until his joints caved. He keeled over forward, clutching Morrigan’s ass as though it would save his life. She whimpered softly as he panted, still buried in her warmth, his hands shaking on her hips. Still, she said nothing, but she was grinning. 

“You look smug, witch,” he said breathlessly, running his finger up her side so she couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Oh, am I allowed to speak now?” she mused playfully. 

He chuckled. “Yes,” he said gently. 

“Well,” she began, slipping off of him slowly so that he groaned. She rolled onto her back. “Finally.”

“Don’t even pretend you didn’t love that.”

Her smile was wicked. “I cannot pretend such a thing, not when I so thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

The Warden grinned. “I knew you would.”

“You read me well. I am impressed.”

“Was I…” He did not know how to voice this concern. He feared that he had been too rough with her; that he had rejected her hand holding too gruffly and hurt her feelings.

“No.” She knew. He breathed a sigh of relief. Laying beside one another, their eyes met. There was a long pause as they stared wordlessly at each other. Then Morrigan’s expression changed dramatically. “Right,” she said brusquely. “That’s that, then.”

He gave her a puzzled look, pushing himself up onto his elbows to look at her from a new angle. “What?”

“I…” Morrigan appeared visibly uncomfortable. “We shall speak later,” she said curtly, sitting upright to pull her leggings back up around her thighs. “Please, return to your own tent.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, sitting up as well. “As you wish.” Her coldness gripped him more harshly than the biting Ferelden air. Still, he was sure he could understand where she was coming from. She wasn’t as hard to read as she thought she was. He stood, tucking himself away and doing up his trousers again. “Until next time,” he said, and bowed slightly, to which she blushed and looked away. Her messy dark hair now hid her gaze from him, contributing in that moment to her delightful air of mystery.

He brushed passed the tent flap without looking back. His stomach was in knots. He was still feeling her soft touch on his hand, still lost in her golden eyes. She was magnetic, and he, dominating and powerful as he may be, was ruined. Helpless.

She held all the power. He was hers.


End file.
